Snow White and the Seven Heavy Bolters
by DaftPhully
Summary: A wounded Sister of Battle is rescued by a Squat mercenary force, and discovers xenophobia can be bad.


"Snow White and the Seven Heavy Bolters"

by DaftPhully

* * *

_"Xenophobia can be a good thing. Especially in matters of faith."_

The stopover on the Imperial planet, Yardbird's Dream, was more distracting than it should have been, thought the missionary. It was a standard cargo transfer/ refueling stop. but it made him clutch his devotional icon a little tighter than usual. The atmosphere of the mining planet was a little stale,.he could tell it was tainted with industrial waste. Yet it seemed there was something else wrong with it and he knew this from the moment he took his first breaths of the planet's recycled air. Thoughts that he had locked away for years were seeping up to surface and breaking into his conscious mind. The transport's crew had warned him that Yardbird's Dream had this effect on newcomers, and, if he was intent on visiting the port's facilities, a series of inoculations would relieve the worst of it. The ship's doctor said that eventually the dwellers would become immune to the effects. The missionary would have none of this primitive science heretical talk. "Faith Conquers Reason" after all, and he could not show a lack of faith in front of the faithful.

Still these thoughts continued to surface, and his fervent prayers to The Emperor, gave him no quiet. There had to be only one answer to this, and of course, the answer had to be a some sort of an incursion of chaos on Yardbird's Dream; Slannesh, the depraved, had to be behind this in some twisted way. Perhaps they had uncovered some long buried and forgotten chaos device. and tried to hide it from the Imperium by the inoculation of newcomers with a serum derived from its evil essence. Oh yes, Yardbird's Dream had to be purged, but first it had to be secured. His report would detail the problem, If he could just clear his head. This would have to wait until he was back on the transport, thrusting away from this vile planet. They would pay.

The Battle Sisters of a minor order of the Adeptus Sororitas were dispatched to hold the Spaceport until units of the Inquistion could arrive to assess the problem. Sister Whiteney was part of one of the security force squads sent to guard the port at Yardbird's Dream; her heavy bolter held at the ready to cut down The Emperor's enemies. Should they decide to attack. These people didn't look particularly dangerous, but this, of course, is the way chaos works. She knew this to be true, as she was taught this in her novice years. Her novice years were spent in a place such as this, first running with a gang down the nameless corridors of one of the millions of hives in the Imperium, until an Adeptus Sororitas from the Hospitalers showed her the true way. Then she had eventually been accepted into the convent, and started her service as a novice. Most of her duties consisted of ministering to the poor and weak-of-faith of her hive, and instruction in the ways of her order. In her gang, she eventually earned the right to wield a heavy stubber, to cut down rival gangs, for the territorial rights to scavenge for her gang's and dependents' survival. She smiled and patted her heavy bolter, with affection. Faith works in strange ways.

Funny she should be thinking about this now. She hadn't thought about this in years. A memory of an aunt telling very long stories by light of the glow tubes brought another smile to her face.

Her thoughts were yanked back to the present by the sound of bolter fire. Lots of bolter fire. Her battle squad had joined a rapidly- forming assault perimeter and were pouring fire into the civilian traffic around the landing pad. Cries of "Purge the Heretics!" mixed with the sounds of people dying horrible flaming deaths. In the midst of emptying clip after clip of heavy bolter ammo into the crowd, a stray, sane thought gave her pause. "Flamers in a spaceport? Wouldn't there be fuel around?"

That is when the first shockwave of exploding fuel storage hit her, throwing her to the ground, after an apparently endless free flight. "Lydia turned up the dorm heater way too high, again." she thought as she blacked out.

* * *

"What a fraggin' mess...what in Garth's Name happened here? 'Oy, Doc. 'dis one's still breathing...get a litter here quick. Nasty leg hit." "Move along lads...l don't like the way power rods look. Scavenge some guns and gear and let's go. Last call..." "The 'eavy bolter broke her fall... doesn't look too bad...when l's cleans off da guts, that is to say... toss it on da litter wit her."

_"...Auntie? Tell me a story..." _

* * *

Rightly or wrongly, there is this phenomenon about captives feeling sympathetic to their captors. This has been discussed by intellectuals for millennium. And Sister Whiteney didn't quite understand what she was feeling, but it wasn't right. She wasn't a captive, in the proper sense of the word, but had been schooled on a strict ration of xenophobia and faith. It took her weeks for her wounds to heal, and took her months to adjust to the fact that the Kaptain of this Squat mercenary vessel was not going to turn it around to take her back to where-ever, and air isn't free, you know. and she's better pull her weight, and watch out for that bulkhead... Her faith? Well it just wasn't the same again.

"She's big enough to handle the autocannon we scavenged off of Farsang' s Folly...You said you knows how to handle a big gun, well here's yer chance. sister. It's gotta be better than scow duty, and keep yer head down, or it" get blown off."

"They're paying us to do a job, and we gots to live to collect. Look lively, lads."

"Good job, lads. Didja see da sister there, with that ay-see...she wuz pretty good wit da thing...ha..you shoulda seen Grumpy try to handle it, before... You were in on the action, so yer's in on the split...fair iz fair."

"Would you be looking for a contract? "

Whiteney smiled and nodded. "These little guys aren't so bad... for mutants, after all," she thought. "The convent wasn't much bigger than this, either." And giving a mental shrug, she thought to herself, "Eh. I could get used to this, too."

"Well, sister?"

Her expression darkened. "Don't call me "sister" anymore." Then a smile spread across her scarred face, as a childhood memory broke surface and floated up to meet the reality of the situation. "I'm in. And I'll go by the handle of 'Snow White ...thank you."

"Wot?"

"I'll explain later; next round's on me."


End file.
